Lost my mother to the cancer of the brain at the young age of seven, my father on the other hand becoming a drunkard psychopath who took his grief out on us; his three young children after the loss.

Memory of that night carved deeply in my head I can’t forget even if I try to, the same night I turned eight and my father returned home drunk.

I was the last child of the family and the only girl, my father decided his birthday gift for me that very day was to break my virginity and leave me scarred for the rest of my life.

He attempted the treacherous act by locking himself up in my room, trapping me under his evil clutches.

My two brothers heard my wailing, they broke down my door instantly engaging themselves in a battle with my father in bid for my safety.

Luckily only my clothes were tore with few bruises on my arm for escaping his grasps whenever they laid on me.

He was a psycho and was not really in control of his actions, but those actions of his that particular night became a scene that stuck deep inside my head never to fade away.

Curled up in a corner with tears streaming down my little eyes, I watched him breaking off my mirror with the head of my oldest brother.

From the broken pieces of the glass he took a long piece not minding the pain it was inflicting on himself.

I could only scream with an heart wrenching sorrow swallowing me up as I witness him slicing my brother’s throat and leaving his body to bleed to death.

My other brother ran out as soon as he saw that, I deduced he went to the kitchen when he returned with a knife. The same knife he plunged into my father’s stomach from behind.

He stared down at himself, glancing back at his son who was behind him meeting his demise. Nobody was expecting it, but I was expecting the emotional trauma my system fits into.

Finalizing my experience, I saw the hand that held the piece of glass he took from the broken pieces swung backward as he delve the piece into my brother’s neck. The both killing each other right in front of my eyes.

I lost everything that night.

I was given up to the foster care by the government and was later adopted by two loving couples. Life didn’t get any better, that night haunted me every second of my growing life.

And I graduated high school never forgetting that night. My academics were my therapist and the only remedy to the pain often acquired whenever my past starts to haunt me.

My foster parents developed an affection for me, they took care of me and was set to give me the world if I ever ask for it.

However, the joy they offered was soon dangling on a thin thread about to cut loose when both were diagnosed with the same sickness that took my mom away from me.

I was not ready to lose both of them, I was in college studying for Business Managements, hoping to sit one job at a successful company after my graduation and take good care of them.

Then I met him while I was leaving from the visit I had come to give to my sick foster parents.

I overheard him talking to his sick mother who wanted him in a marriage because her time seems to be limited.

I knew him because he was well known in the city, and the same night I came across him the second time conversing with another man he must be acquainted with.

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